


Drifting »»»

by rhae52



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhae52/pseuds/rhae52
Summary: William Darcy is not the most likable man in the world but he has his reasons. This is high angst. Character death.
Relationships: Caroline Bingley/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 21
Kudos: 59





	Drifting »»»

“You Son of a Bitch!”

Darcy ducked, avoiding the crystal vase hurtling at his head with all of the urgency of discussing the 7-day weather forecast. He held his hand over the microphone and curled his upper lip, waiting out the resonating sound of exploding glass to dissipate.

“My Chiron had better be on the track by Friday.” Darcy drawled unperturbed as he transmitted his instructions over the phone and into the ear of a faceless employee. He lifted a mere eyebrow toward his beloved wife standing in a hot lather across his desk. He snaked his lithe body further down his leather chair and brought up his ankle to rest across his other knee. Rubbing his index finger against his temple, Darcy rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. The conversation concluded with his issuance of an unvarnished warning, “I need that car by Friday. Period. I will not have this discussion again. Do you understand?”

His farewell consisted of his thumb swiping the red button. Darcy flicked his wrist, tossing the phone onto his desk and giving Caroline his usual perfunctory glance of steel. “You have exactly five minutes. Go.”

“Don’t you dare treat me like one of your lackeys.” Caroline hissed. “I’m your wife!” 

“Now, you have four minutes. Tick. Tock.” 

He leaned back in his chair and barked out a mirthless laugh at his wife’s complete want of equanimity. Regarded as quite the synthetic beauty within their social circle, a most unbecoming hue dripped from her florid face. The white-hot flare of her inflamed nostrils and an unnatural bulging around dilated eyes only further diminished her hauteur. She clenched her hands then flexed her fingers, thirsting to find another weapon that would inflict maximum impact upon that bastard’s smug face.

“I gave my word that we, The Darcys, would host an exhibit for an up and coming artist, Sebastian Kershaw, at our chalet for this year’s art festival. The planning committee had already begun preparations—that is until I was informed by _your_ security team that the chalet is unavailable.”

“Hmm. . . that is an unfortunate miscommunication. I do apologize. It is not technically ‘unavailable’. The term ‘unavailable’ implies that there is a scheduling conflict.” Darcy sneered out of the corner of his mouth. “The chalet is off-limits to you. You will never have access to _my_ property.”

“Your property? Since when was the chalet your sole possession?”

“Ever since your talons could not wait to scrawl your signature on that pre-nup.”

“You bastard!”

“Two minutes.”

“What am I suppose to tell the committee?”

“That’s your problem, not mine, darling.”

“You’re despicable!” Caroline heaved through punctuated breaths. “You have no right to treat me this way.”

“I have every right.” The barest glint flitted from his eyes—a lusty flicker of hatred. “We have an arrangement.”

“Yes, we do,” Caroline cooed not bothering to conceal the malicious tint coloring her own glare, “and since you are a very astute business man, I think it is time for us to renegotiate.”

“I have no incentive to renegotiate.” 

“Oh, I think you do, because if I am denied, I will round up my lawyers and I am going to drag you through the gutter.”

“What do you want?” Darcy narrowed his lids. He dropped his foot to the floor with a thud and leaned forward in his chair.

“I want access to that chalet.” Caroline took a step forward placing her palms on his desk, looming as she delivered the coup de grâce, “And since I am now a member of such an august family, I also want your name.”

Darcy leaned back in his chair. He gifted Caroline with a commingled look of disgust and admiration as he growled at her. “Never.”

“Never say never, my love. I married into this family and I think it is about time I got to enjoy some of the benefits of being legally called, ‘Mrs. Darcy’.”

Darcy remained deathly still, piercing Caroline with the blackest of eyes. After a painfully pregnant silence she shrugged her shoulders. “Have it your way, Darcy—but, I’ll have you know that I have lived up to my end of our pact and I intend to get paid.”

“I have to say Caroline, I admire your negotiating tactics.” Darcy’s smirk, born of mockery, blossomed into pure venom. “But, as you may recall, part of our pre-nuptial agreement was that you were to keep your maiden name. It is non-negotiable. 

“However, I am compelled to inform you that if you continue with this pursuit, I will tear off every inch of your silicone-embalmed flesh from your scrawny bones and your ‘payment’ will consist of our divorce decree—and it will be to my satisfaction.”

Caroline bolted upright and keenly eyed Darcy, bravado withering her body. She swallowed audibly and rasped, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“One minute. Tick. Tock.”

“I’m your wife!” She cried in a voice emanating her burgeoning panic. “You would never treat me this way if I was—”

Darcy’s face distorted and his limbs jolted. He thrust himself forward, up from where he sat, toppling the chair over backwards. The enraged Mr. Darcy slammed his fists onto the desk snarling, “Finish that sentence and you will pay dearly, my wife!”

Caroline tripped a step backwards shifting tactics. “Y-you would never treat me this way if I was your. . . your whore!”

“Of course not.” Darcy released the unsteady breath he held and collected his chair from the floor. He casually retook his seat wearing a feral smile. “But you must remember that you serve a different role than her. You, my lovely bride, for all intents and purposes, are my secretary. You organize my personal life, my social calendar, and keep me respectable. My whore, as you so charmingly referred to her, keeps my bed warm.

“Oh, and time’s up.” Without further acknowledgment of her presence, Darcy rose from his desk and casually strode to the wet bar retrieving the bottle of Old Stagg and a tumbler, gesturing for Caroline to relinquish herself from his office.

“I hope you burn in Hell!”

“Be sure to save me a place on the spit, darling.”

**»»»**

“Explain to me what you mean by ‘limits’?” Darcy snapped into the microphone causing nearby diners to cast guarded looks toward their booth. He lowered his hand underneath the tablecloth and clamped a firm hold on Noelle’s wrist, seizing her attempt at embedding her fingers into his crotch. “Listen carefully. I did not pay two and a half million dollars for a high-performance sports car only to drive it around my track in second gear!”

Noelle slithered closer to Darcy. She tentatively placed her hand upon his knee and undulated her torso against his side, rubbing her right breast into his bicep. He shot her a heated look while continuing his phone conversation. “So, if the track doesn’t have the clearance, how fast can I go?” 

Noelle pressed Darcy with her sensual suit, dragging her sculpted nails along his inner thigh. He snatched her hand from his leg and thrust it across her body. “If the south wall is the problem, then fix it. Tear out the goddamn wall and extend the track! I don’t care how much it will cost—just do it!” With that final directive Darcy flung the phone onto the table, rustling the stemware set before him.

“What was that all about?” Noelle inched back up against him, purring against the skin just below his ear.

“I just bought a Bugatti Chiron and I am being told that my track can’t accommodate the car’s performance.” Darcy stated in a rueful voice. “The track is too small. I would never be able to open up the throttle because I would have to downshift to make the curves.”

“Is it that fast?”

“Top speed is over 260 miles per hour.”

“So if the Chiron is too much for your track, just take it to another track.”

“Or upgrade the track that I do own.” The corner of his mouth twisted into a wistful grin. “It’s been a long time since I have had a good rush.”

“Maybe I could help with that.” Noelle whispered against his neck. She swiped her tongue along the shell of his ear then guided his lobe in between her teeth, leaving a trace of lipstick as she slowly suckled. Groaning, he tossed his head aside and reached for his napkin. Wiping his ear, his cool, dark eyes raked over her slender curves.

“I’m assuming that you have something on your mind.” Darcy lifted his third toast of bourbon to his lips and inhaled. “Listen Noelle, I don’t mind a little affection every once in a while, but I don’t appreciate you clinging to my jock. You have a tendency to do that when you want something. Now, for brevity’s sake, let’s get to it. How much is this going to cost me?”

Noelle’s lovely features drooped at being caught out. Her gaze fell to the table and her fingers twisted the stem of the half-empty glass of Chardonnay. She cleared her throat of any lingering tremors. “When are you going to leave her?”

“Excuse me?”

“I want more, Darcy. I deserve more. I am sick and tired of being an outcast, grasping for nothing more than second-class status.”

“Let me get this straight,” Darcy drew out each word. His soft brown eyes hardened like fired glass. “You are demanding that I divorce my wife and make a commitment to you. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Noelle smarted. “Everyone knows that your marriage is a farce—that the two of you loathe each other. Why should I have to live in the shadows while she gets to parade around as Mrs. Darcy?”

“Caroline is _not_ Mrs. Darcy, nor will she ever be Mrs. Darcy.” Darcy ground out through clenched teeth. “And for that matter, neither will you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Do you love me?” Darcy parried, pinning her back against the booth with one heated glance.

“O-of course I do.” To any other being, the hesitation would have been indiscernible but Darcy latched on to her stutter. 

“And I love you just as much, you conniving little bitch.” He chuckled shaking his head. Reaching over, Darcy patted her hand in a patronizing manner. “In all fairness, Noelle, think about my position. Why would I trade in one gold digger for another?”

“I have been good to you!”

“Would you be faithful? Answer wisely—word gets around and it will eventually get back to me.”

“Who are you to judge me?” Noelle spat ripping her hand from the table. Her cheeks flamed at his unfaltering composure as he pulled out a cigar from his lapel pocket and cut the tip. “You’re a married man _and_ you keep a girlfriend!”

“You are correct. I am a married man _and_ that is the salient point.” Darcy breathed in between languid puffs, twirling the tip over a flame encased in 24-carats and lighting his cigar to perfection. He slid his hooded eyes back to Noelle. “Or maybe the salient point is that you knew that I was a married man when we first met, and yet within the first hour of our acquaintance, you willingly dropped to your knees and gave me a blowjob in the cloakroom.”

“Fuck you!”

“Now, the question in my mind,” Darcy continued unbothered releasing a plume of smoke as he thoughtfully added, “when you were doing your performance art on me that night, was it my person that enticed you or was my portfolio the real prize that you had set your sights upon?”

“It was you.” Noelle protested, her voice one octave higher. “I was interested in you.”

“Hmm, no. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you that. If you recall, we met in an elite establishment that is known for its wealthy clientele. It is also known to be frequented by ladies with somewhat elastic morals who desperately wish to consort with that clientele.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if I wasn’t there that evening, at this very moment you would more than likely be having this conversation with some other poor bastard.” Darcy studied Noelle for a moment longer and then release an elongated sigh. “Listen, darling, if you have found another benefactor, you don’t have to worry about me. You’re free to walk. As a matter of fact, I encourage it.”

“Well, that answered my question.” Noelle lunged for her clutch. “I’m done! I will no longer be at your beck and call whenever you get the itch for a quick and dirty fuck. And frankly, since you don’t give a damn about anybody else but yourself, why should I give a damn about you?”

“Bravo, madame philosopher. Bravo.” Darcy clapped his hands together with a deliberate cadence. “That was simply profound.”

“Go fuck yourself, Darcy!” Noelle hissed. “However, I doubt if even that would be enough of an incentive for you to put some effort into it!”

Darcy roared, his laughter igniting a second stint of covert gawking from the surrounding tables. “I may just do that—but since we’re discussing my lack of enthusiasm in that area, I would caution you to reevaluate your statement.” He lowered his voice roughened with disdain. “It would be unwise for you to have any misconceptions as to your own sexual prowess. Frankly, you are one lousy fuck—but I will give you this, you always put your back into it.”

**»»»**

“Congratulations all around.” Richard beamed at Charles and Darcy. “That was one hell of a win, gentlemen.”

“It is our biggest order, yet.” Charles grinned. “I can’t wait to call Janie and tell her the good news. She’ll be thrilled. How about you, Darcy?”

Darcy grunted, keeping his focus on the runway, avoiding the eyes of the men congregating around the Gulfstream.

“C’mon, Darcy. You act as though we lost.” Richard encouraged. “The profit from this deal alone will keep our coffers filled for some time.” 

“And I’m sure that you would be more than willing to stand around and guard my coffers.” Darcy accused baldly, heedless of his sidelong glint ablaze with contempt. Richard scowled and opened his mouth, at the ready to hurl a punishing retort.

“Do you have any type of celebration planned, Darcy?” Charles interrupted just in time to snuff out any spark that may ignite Darcy’s fury. “There’s a new Indian restaurant downtown that Caroline had been wanting to try.”

“You know that I have other plans.” Darcy chastised. Clamping his jaw shut, he turned away once more and peered up toward the sky. “Besides, my Chiron should be sitting on my track as we speak and I plan on taking it out for a few laps to break in the engine.”

“Of course, of course. Sorry.” Charles murmured tripping over his tongue towards a different topic. “Does Caroline know that we closed this deal?”

“Doubtful.” Darcy rolled his shoulders back. “There’s nothing to worry about, Charles. She is still getting her allowance.”

Darcy took out his phone and metaphorically snapped the ‘end’ key on their discussion. 

**»»»**

“Beautiful,” Darcy murmured gliding his fingers over the glossy coat, caressing the curves of the Bugatti Chiron. “Just beautiful.”

“That she is, Mr. Darcy.” The aging former pit manager affirmed. The gentlemen cleared his throat gently chiding, “My apologies, Mr. Darcy, but I’m afraid that there wasn’t enough time to start demolition on the track, so you won’t be able to open her up. I would say that you could safely clear the southern wall at around 160.”

“I guess it will suffice—for now.” Darcy face broke out into a broad smile as he placed his sunglasses over his eyes. “Well, let’s take her for a spin.”

“Splendid. I’ll have the technician help you into your gear.”

“There’s no time for that, just my mic and headset.”

**»»»**

The keys skipped twice as they bounced across the counter. Caroline dropped her bag to the floor and spun her eyes around the circumference of the room taking in a cursory glance of Darcy’s precious chalet. Money still talked, and with cash in hand, there was always an underling willing to listen. The house was light and airy, clinging to the shabby chic style of the previous decade—a necessity of every suburban housewife with time on her hands and a credit card to swipe. 

“Charming,” she muttered tangling her upper lip. “This place looks like it jumped right off the page of a glossy spread. Oh, Darcy, you can do so much better than this.”

She passed the living area and climbed the stairs to the loft, indifferent to the slight disturbance of her surroundings. The furnishings were covered with muslin, the same soft color palette as the home. Even in its dormant state, the house was just so quaint. Caroline’s feet led her across the landing of the loft to the focal point of the home: a solarium encased in glass. Her senses came to attention walking across the sun-drenched tiles and her heart leapt into a frantic stammer. 

Darcy had been at the chalet but not in the past few weeks or days. Situated in a corner of the sun room was a small lounge chair and side table announcing that, at that moment, Darcy was somewhere in the house. 

Caroline’s feet danced a quick jig, shuffling her body toward an escape route but she halted her movements. She released a sigh of relief recalling his earlier phone conversation. No doubt he was at his race track nearby, and occupied by his new toy, he would be there for an indeterminate length of time. She stepped closer to the table surveying the clutter: cigars, lighter, wallet, necktie, a near empty fifth of sour-mash whiskey, a rocks glass and—

Caroline gasped bringing her hand up to cover her gaped mouth. In the center of a table that contained the entirety of Darcy’s world stood a small portrait that had been taken on their wedding day— _his other wedding day_. Lying harmoniously next to the picture frame was a hand written note atop a stack of papers.

Her shaking hand clutched the missive while her body collapsed into the chair. She carefully unfolded the note and her eyes scanned down to the signature at the bottom of the last page, confirming the identity of the author. She refused to allow her conscience to dictate her actions, for in her hands she held the key to understanding the stranger that she was legally bound by matrimony.

  
_. . .  
_

_My Will,_

_I am at a loss as to how I should begin such a letter but I suppose the best way to start is to offer up myself to you, warts and all. Life is about loving, living, and finding happiness with the one person who completes you._

_I can only imagine how angry you are with me for what I have done but I felt it was for the best. Please forgive me for being so selfish, but I didn’t see any other way forward for us. For myself, the healing started on the morning of our final mediation conference. I was so fearful of that meeting and its repercussions that I had to take a Valium before I left the house. I was acting so ridiculous that day, we were finalizing our divorce and yet I spent over an hour on my hair and makeup because I wanted to look nice for you. I still couldn’t fathom what had happened between us. All I know is that we forgot how to put our trust in each other and we were so close to letting our pride stand in the way of our happiness._

_Admittedly, at that time, things were pretty ugly between us and I expected the worst from you. I felt nauseous when I saw you walk into the room with your lawyers in tow. That was the moment that I realized I wasn’t just going to lose you—I was going to lose everything. If only I could describe how crazy it felt when the papers started circulating between us for our signatures, and then suddenly, you threw your pen down on the table. The last thing I had expected was for you to ask me to take a break and join you for a cup of coffee._

_I had almost forgotten who you really were. I had almost forgotten that there was no one in this world who knew me like you do. You managed to turn the worst day of my life into one of my best._

_Yes, ever since that meeting, myself and many others knowingly kept so many things hidden from you, but would you and I have been able to reconcile if you knew everything? All I can do is thank you for giving our marriage another chance and for allowing me to present the truth. I pray that some day you will understand._

_Prior to that meeting I had traveled to both Cleveland and Baltimore, or more precisely, Cleveland Clinic and Johns Hopkins Hospital. I returned with second and third opinions, all confirming the official diagnosis—pancreatic cancer._

_During that period, after our mediation and before you left for your business trip overseas, I had requested that we spend those two intervening months at the chalet. I had every intention of having ‘the talk’ with you but that was a secondary motive for me. I was desperate to hoard those precious days and I was going to spend every minute of them repairing our marriage. I did not want you to be with me out of a perverse sense of pity or merely as an obligation. I wanted to right my wrongs. I wanted to take that time to heal all of the hurt that we had caused each other. I wanted us to live again and to laugh once more. But above all, I just wanted us to love the hell out of each other._

_Unfortunately, as time slipped away, I realized how foolish I was to believe that I could borrow more of it and that I could delay our talk right up until the instant you were boarding your flight. All I wanted to do was wake up each morning and escape into our own little world. By the time your plane had lifted off the ground, my body had started to break down and I knew that there was no turning back._

_A couple of weeks before you were take your leave, I had attempted to prepare myself for our discussion about my illness, but in the end I could not do it. We were so happy there and things were wonderful. You would come to me with all of your plans for a new beginning—our second chance. We would seek marriage counseling, have a second honeymoon and to try again for a family. How could I do that to you? How could I knowingly cause you so much pain? What was I to do? Which is harder for a person to endure, the death of a loved one by an unexpected tragedy or to wake up every day and be forced to choke down another dose of grief that only served to compound the heartbreak?_

_I told myself that I would be relieved once there was a physical distance between us. Your absence would give me the strength to let you go. You will never know how difficult it was for me to carry this secret hidden deep within my heart knowing that we would be thousands of miles apart and may never see each other again. I was wrong not to tell you about my condition and I know that I took myself away from you, but as you know me, I know you. You are my hero and my champion. I knew that you would have put your life on hold and in the process would have killed yourself trying to find a miracle that would never bless us. What purpose would it have served to make you suffer?_. . .

  
“You lying bastard!” Caroline shrieked. Divorce. There was no divorce. The assets. All of the assets would still be controlled by her estate. Caroline stared down through blurry eyes at the proof of her folly, on top of the remaining pile of papers lay a letter of appreciation from the American Cancer Society acknowledging Darcy’s generous donation, ‘In Loving Memory of Elizabeth A. Darcy’.

  
_. . ._ _There were so many difficult, drug-induced hours in which I was lost in a fog but there were also moments of clarity in which I had a good laugh at myself. Even on some of my worst days my vanity would waltz to the fore and overwhelm all of my good sense. I would take one look in the mirror and congratulate myself that you would never see me in such a state. I was emaciated with ashen skin, and shortly after your departure, I had to cut my hair. In all of the years that we had known each other, I never once told you that I would’ve preferred a shorter hairstyle because I knew that you loved my curls. Truth be told, that would have been the one thing that would have broken me, to see the look on your face as you committed my image to memory, the one of me with my shaven head._

 _I could have never imagined how painful it would be for us to be apart, but know this, my love, our memories and your love were my greatest comfort. The old cliché about how it is the littlest things that matter the most could not have been more apropos_ _. . ._

  
“Nice!” The technician piped into Darcy’s earpiece as he counter-steered, drifting the Chiron through the inside curve. “How does it feel?”

“Great!” Darcy shouted. “The angle was a little tight but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Very shortly you’ll be approaching the south wall, sir. I would recommend keeping it around 150.”

  
_. . ._ _Never will I forget all of the times that we went out to a restaurant and you would complain throughout the entire dinner of how I would snitch most of your meal and leave my plate untouched. Sweetie, you didn’t fool me for one minute. I was aware that you would valorously forsake what you would have actually preferred to eat and would order one of my favorite dishes. Doubtful that this world will ever again see the likes of a man who would routinely give up a Filet Mignon for Pasta Marinara in the name of love._

_I remembered how you would ‘innocently’ leave all of those filthy, little love notes lying around our house whenever my parents came for an extended stay. The look of horror on my mom’s face when I asked her to make a salad for dinner—on the recently-christened kitchen counter! I will never forget that shameless grin permanently pasted to your face while my poor mother spent the remainder of her visit clutching a canister of antibacterial wipes._

_On good days, I spent hours sifting through all of the photos, gifts and keepsakes that I had collected throughout our life together. I still have a picture of the ceramic garden gnome from our neighbor’s yard that you had stolen for me just because I thought it was cute. Thank goodness I was married to a very powerful and influential man who possessed all of the right connections (and a case of beer) to smooth things over and put us back in good standing with the home owners association. God, when the mood hit, you were the most adorable, little stinker_ _. . ._

  
Darcy navigated around the curve. The mirrored tint of his sunglasses caught the reflection of the low ridge casting a shadow over the chalet’s private lake and he dimpled. The water’s temperature was never warm enough for skinny dipping. “But that never stopped you, did it, my sweet baby?” he whispered.

  
_. . ._ _How could I forget all of the crazy places that we had made love when we were first married? Or all of the tears we shed together after both miscarriages? More than once I would simply panic, afraid that there were too many memories to recall and too many pieces of my heart to gather._

_Even as I reminisce about the life that we shared together, out of all those instances, what I treasured the most were those phone calls you would make to me after a successful business venture. For me, it was never about the money or the prestige. I was so proud of you. You worked so hard and were so determined to have the best for us. I could envision you wearing that beautiful smile, the one that brought out your dimples. Whenever you called, I would have to hold the phone away from my ear, you were so animated and loud._

_I can still imagine you running through the airport screaming at your phone. I loved those calls. I lived for those calls. I loved how your excitement was never about the win—it was always about sharing your news with me. I can’t explain it, but for some reason your goodbye always gave me goosebumps, “I’m coming home, baby!” The wait to see your car pull into the driveway was almost unbearable_ _. . ._

  
The bluetooth paired with his phone went off in his headset and the momentary distraction forced Darcy to relax his foot off of the accelerator and down shift. It was a text from Noelle. “Dismiss.” 

He clenched his eyes for an instant to alleviate the sting and temporary vision loss. Darcy cleared his throat and released a hollow breath. Shifting his foot back on to the clutch, he whispered hoarsely, “Oh, sweetheart. Do you have any idea?”

  
_. . ._ _Please forgive Richard. It wasn’t true. The rumors were only that—rumors. We were never intimate. I know that he had purposely led you to believe otherwise. On more than one occasion, he had professed his love but his feelings were never returned. He had asked if I would allow him to care for me while you were away. I couldn’t refuse him. As much I wanted for you to be with me, Richard and I needed that time together. It was our absolution. I could assuage my guilt for the hurt I had caused him by allowing him to assuage his guilt for trying to break up our marriage. I don’t believe he will ever be able to forgive himself for the damage that he had caused. Never forget this, during my remaining days he may have been the steward of my body, but you will forever possess my soul._

_I know in these missives I am supposed to release you but I am a selfish creature. I am so worried about your contrary heart. When I am gone, will you allow someone else to love you as you deserve to be loved or will you become more guarded and reticent? Will you become the embodiment of your public persona? You always put on such a convincing facade, and in turn, people were willing to share with me what a cruel and calculating bastard you were. One woman was so hateful, she actually made me cry._

_There were so many times I had wished that others could see your generosity, your kindness, and your patience. Your energy was boundless when you gave all of yourself to those you loved. But then again, if you were to ask one of my sisters, they would readily tell you that I had never really understood that whole concept of ‘sharing’_ _. . ._

  
Caroline stepped away from the balcony that overlooked the lake, knowing that she waited for something that would never come. A hollow feeling lodged itself in the pit of her stomach. Her husband was the personification of still waters that ran deep. She would never touch bottom. Would he divorce her? 

Eventually he would come back to the chalet and she was a patient woman. She strode back into the house and proceeded to the kitchen. Snatching her purse from the floor by the counter, Caroline scrambled for her phone.

  
_. . ._ _As I write this, I can’t hold back the tears of gratitude. I am so thankful for the gifts that you have bestowed upon me. You were everything that was good in my life. I want you to know, Will, that of all the things that you have given me, what I hold most dear is my name. If we had been divorced, the name ‘Darcy’ would have forever served as a meaningless faceplate, mocking me and mocking the commitment that we had made to each other. Your name was my identity. I was Mrs. William Darcy. I was your loving wife, your best friend, and together we were a team willing to face the world as a united front, an unstoppable force. We were Meadowbrook Estates Home Owners Association’s very own Bonnie & Clyde. _

_Even as I write these words I wonder if my declarations are enough. Will you ever know what your surname signified? In the first years of our life, I needed to make a name for myself outside of our marriage. As I grew into my role as your wife and as Elizabeth Darcy, your support never faltered and through it all, you never allowed me to lose myself nor forget the girl that stole your heart._

_It is such a peculiar state of mind when one must come to absolute terms with their own mortality. What is my legacy? Did I make this world a better place? One question always led to another and no matter the depths of my introspection, the answers were always beyond my reach. However, I realized that none of it mattered. In the end I only desired the answer to one question—was it enough? Will, did I love you enough?_ _. . ._

  
“160, Mr. Darcy.”

  
_. . ._ _Although they are few, I will part from you harboring regrets. How I wish that I had one more moment in which I could have seen your dimples or ran my fingers through your hair. One moment more to thank you for loving me._

_I had lived my life and because of you, I have cherished every moment. You have made my happiness complete._

_I love you, William Darcy. You are my everything and I can hardly wait until I can once more feel your heart beating next to mine._

  
_Your Elizabeth—_

_. . ._

“Fuck!” The bluetooth went off again. Caroline. He glanced at the speedometer. “Read it to me.”

“I’m at the chalet. Can we talk?”

...150 or 160? 

The numbers blurred. 

...180? 

“Call Caroline.”

Will’s hand flew off of the gear shift. His fingers shook, fisting and flexing until his knuckles turned white. He lowered his chin against his heaving chest.

“Hello, Darcy.”

“What in the hell are you doing there?”

“I needed to find you. . . We need to talk.” Caroline stammered.

“Get the hell out of my house!” He shouted over the deafening engine. The noise forced Will to relinquish his trademarked drawl which never failed to cause his adversary to take a step backwards.

“No! You owe me, Darcy. You never gave our marriage a chance.”

The encircling turbulence wafting through Will’s headset eased as he downshifted. With her senses heightened and agitated, Caroline could make out his panting breaths.

“You read my letter, didn’t you?” 

“It explained everything! You were never going to give us a chance to be happy, were you?” Caroline quieted, waiting.

“I’m still your wife, Darcy.” Caroline held the phone away from her ear briefly wondering if he threw off his headset and was no longer listening to her.

“I am right here!” Caroline raged at the screen. “When are you going to try to make a life with me?”

It came upon her unexpectedly. The silent recriminations stung her eyes.

“Listen, I can’t tell you how to live your life, but I am not going to spend the rest of mine waiting for you.” Caroline slowed her breathing, carefully enunciating her words, attempting to project an air of calm. “Whether or not we can make our marriage a success depends upon you, Darcy. You need to do the right thing and bury your selfish pride. It’s your choice.”

“You’re right, Caroline,” he suddenly sounded weary. “No one else but me can fix this.”

“What?” Caroline stuttered briefly, incredulous of his easy acquiescence to her demands. She pushed, “Well, I am here and I am willing to talk.”

She cover her ear straining to block out the wailing pandemonium: a cacophony of roaring engines, squealing tires, and his absent voice.

Caroline retreated back into the solarium toward the corner table and picked up the letter. She turned over the top fold, her eyes widening with comprehension. The date written across the paper was from his hand. Removing the phone from her ear Caroline scanned the screen littered with useless information for the answer to her question. 

“So, what are you going to do, Darcy?” She whispered as she placed the trembling phone back to her ear, waiting, hoping, forever holding on.

“Darcy? DARCY!”

The blare of angry gears grinding against each other and a thrust of power broke through the barrier of silence. Then came the strangled, guttural cry. Was it a sob or a laugh? Caroline wrapped her arms around her torso and doubled over. 

She could not hear it. No. She felt it. 

His words crashed into her on impact, drowning out the distant screams of glass shattering and metal crunching.

“I’m coming home, baby. I’m coming home!”

* * *

© 2016 Olivia E. Landry. All Rights Reserved.


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